


love my way

by leetheshark



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Car Sex, Exhibitionism, Food, Front Hole Sex, M/M, Pre-Op Trans Male character, Public Sex, Trans Male Character, references to murder, toxic parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: Maybe Victor will go down for credit card fraud, or maybe he’ll go down for fucking in a Sonic parking lot in broad daylight.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	love my way

Roman pretends not to like shitty food, but when Victor takes him to the Sonic Drive-in on Route 1/9, he doesn’t complain.

Well, he does complain, but not about that. He complains about his parents, because he got back from college for summer break a little over a month ago and he’s living with them again. Victor’s parents are dead. He still doesn’t envy Roman.

Roman being home has its pros and cons. On one hand, Victor doesn’t have to drive an hour to Princeton to see him anymore. On the other hand, Roman’s pretty much always in a bad mood. As much as Victor hates to see Roman upset, he’d rather be with an upset Roman than be away from a happy Roman. They’re probably a little bit codependent. If you ask Victor, it’s whatever.

Victor picks Roman up a block away from his house, so his parents don’t see them together. On the way there, Roman pouts and turns up the music. Victor has a 10-plus-year-old _Psychedelic Furs_ CD on. Roman drums against the dashboard with both hands.

_“Love my way, it’s a new road. I follow where my mind goes.”_

Mid-afternoon Wednesday leaves the Sonic almost empty. Victor pulls into the last drive-in spot, all the way at the edge of the parking lot. A waitress in roller skates takes their orders and Victor pays with cash Roman gave him last week and probably forgot about. Victor orders the chicken strip meal with ketchup and honey mustard, plus a banana shake. Roman gets a vanilla shake and fries, because he’s having dinner with his parents later and he says he doesn’t want to spoil his appetite. Victor’s not sure how a large vanilla shake won’t spoil Roman’s appetite.

While he eats, Roman relays a word-for-word conversation he had with his father this morning about interning at Janus Corp. The takeaway is: Roman doesn’t want to, and he probably will. It’s a lot like the conversation Roman had with his father years ago, when he declared his major.

Roman’s majoring in business because his father is making him, and he’s minoring in art history because his father lets him.

How Roman got into Princeton in the first place would be more of a mystery if he weren’t, well, Roman. Victor’s pretty sure Roman’s parents are paying for his grades, because Roman’s getting As and Bs and he’s never been, like, _good_ at school. Sometimes Victor even does his classwork for him. He knows a little bit about business, because his parents taught him when he was younger, hoping that he would someday take over their corporation.

It’s a shame he kills people instead.

Art history, on the other hand, is Roman’s passion project. It was what he studied at his private high school, the fancy one up on 96th Street with the school uniforms, where Roman snuck Victor into his junior prom and the principal wasn’t even that mad because she thought Victor was a girl.

Roman’s parents didn’t know whether to be pissed at what he did or relieved that he wasn’t gay.

(He is.)

That kind of thing wouldn’t fly anymore. Now, Victor has a beard.

After high school, Roman took a gap year to fuck around in Europe, where he spent a lot of time in Rome (ha-ha, Rome, Roman. Roman didn’t think it was funny.) and came back talking about Caravaggio and Carracci and whoever-the-fuck-else. Only some of it was actually interesting. Like this statue in Italy of that saint who was skinned alive, according to the legend, anyway. Roman gave Victor a Polaroid of it, labeled on the back in barely-legible handwriting: _Duomo – Milan. Roman S., 1991._

Victor’s been trying to find out if the statue is accurate, but skinning people is surprisingly difficult.

When Roman got back, he took another gap year to fuck around in Gotham City with Victor, because he refused to go to college yet, and his parents can only make him do so much. Now, he’s 22—turning 23 in October—and approaching his senior year.

Lately, Roman’s interests have turned to African art. He’s studying abroad in Congo-Kinshasa next month, and Victor will have to figure out, all over again, what the fuck to do without him.

But at least they have right now. With milkshakes and fries. Warm summer air outside and air conditioning inside. Normally Victor would crack the window to smoke, but he’s been wondering if Roman’s going to kiss him. After Roman finishes his fries, gets another order, and eats half of it, he does.

It catches Victor off guard. One second, he’s taking his straw out of his mouth, and the next, Roman’s tongue is in it.

It’s not like he’s complaining.

Roman’s hand goes to Victor’s neck, tugging gently at Victor’s silver chain necklace. He tilts his head to get a better angle against Victor’s mouth and moans softly in the back of his throat. Then, he starts to unbutton Victor’s shirt, over a chest that Victor isn’t legally allowed to show in public.

Victor doesn’t really mind, well, them. They’re small enough not to show in most of his shirts. Besides, Roman likes them, and most of the other people who see Victor with his shirt off have more pressing concerns, like what the scars he’s showing them mean, or what he’s about to do with that knife.

Maybe he’ll get them off someday, but he hasn’t had health insurance in a while, so he’s waiting until Roman can drop that much cash without his parents finding out.

So Victor’s sitting there in the driver’s seat, shirt wide open, nipples hard in the air conditioned car, when Roman puts his fingers to Victor’s mouth and says, “Suck.”

They’re still salty from the fries. Roman probes Victor’s mouth like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever stuck his fingers in, even though it’s not even the most interesting part of Victor he’s stuck his fingers in this week.

It probably looks fucking ridiculous, but Victor loves sucking on Roman’s fingers. Almost as much as he loves sucking Roman’s cock. He’d put his mouth all over Roman if Roman would let him, but Roman won’t, because he has too many sensitive spots that he won’t let Victor anywhere near.

Roman pulls his fingers out of Victor’s mouth with a pop. Victor wonders if Roman will put them back if he turns on the puppy-dog eyes. Then, Roman drags his spit-soaked fingers down Victor’s scarred chest, over the swell of a breast and a very-interested nipple, then down his stomach and happy trail and directly into his underwear.

Victor drops his head against the headrest and whines. Roman didn’t have to get his fingers wet. Victor’s already there.

“Let’s fuck,” Roman whispers in Victor’s ear. Victor can’t see his face, but he can hear the mischievous and shark-like smile. “Right here.”

“Yes,” Victor says.

So Roman withdraws his hand from Victor’s underwear, grabs a handful of his chest, and kisses him hard. Then, he climbs into the backseat.

They always do it in the car when Roman’s not at his dorm, because Victor can’t be caught in Roman’s parents’ house, and Roman wouldn’t be caught dead within ten blocks of Victor’s crumbling, rat-infested apartment.

Victor’s pretty sure that’s how Roman pictures it, anyway. Like the most cliché haunted house. Then again, if anyone’s place is haunted, it’s Victor’s. He’s never actually killed anyone there, because he’s not _trying_ to get caught, but if ghosts can follow you home, well. Ghosts are the one thing Victor’s actually scared of. He doesn’t want to think about it.

Victor’s apartment really isn’t that bad. It’s just that it’s in a shitty neighborhood, but Victor can protect himself (and Roman) if the opportunity calls for it, and it’s small, because Victor gambled away his inheritance at a ripe, not-yet-legally-allowed-in-a-casino seventeen, and now he mostly gets by with dead people’s credit cards.

He sometimes wonders if that’s what he’s gonna go down for, like Al Capone and tax evasion.

But his apartment is clean. He’s not some kind of animal. Still, Roman is Roman, and once he decides on something, the chance of him admitting he was wrong is _literally_ zero.

Victor strips down to nothing in the driver’s seat and climbs over the median, ass in the air for anyone to see. Maybe Victor will go down for credit card fraud, or maybe he’ll go down for fucking in a Sonic parking lot in broad daylight.

Roman slumps against the backseat, ass on the very edge, and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees. Victor’s pretty sure Roman has a big dick. Other than porn, he doesn’t have much of a frame of reference. Roman’s the only person Victor’s ever fucked. He’s the only person Victor’s ever wanted to fuck. It’s a good thing Roman’s into Victor too, because otherwise, Victor might have to _pine._

He climbs into Roman’s lap with the ease of having done this more times than he can count, straddling Roman’s hips and rubbing against his cock as he melts against Roman with a kiss. Roman takes Victor’s stubbly cheeks in both hands.

“Baby,” he says, in one of his rare moments of sweetness. “Take my cock.”

Victor doesn’t have to be told twice. He strokes Roman a few times, just to feel him, before guiding him into position and taking him inside.

(Victor was made for fucking in the car. He doesn’t even need lube if he’s turned on enough, and with Roman, he always is. Victor’s turned on even when they’re _not_ fucking.)

Roman’s face contorts as Victor settles down on top of him. “Oh fuck.”

“Feel good, boss?” Victor rocks his hips, and his words melt away into a high-pitched whine. He can never keep quiet when Roman’s inside him.

That’s another reason they can’t fuck in Roman’s house.

“Why would you even _ask_ that? Of course it does. Fuck.”

Orgasms mellow Roman out, but sex makes him bitchy. Like everything else about Roman, Victor finds it kinda hot.

Roman doesn’t like to talk during sex in general, unless he’s high, in which case he loves it.

Victor fucks himself on Roman and starts to unbutton Roman’s shirt. It’s not fair that he’s naked and Roman isn’t. Victor can multitask. He exposes Roman’s pale-white and sparsely-furred chest—even though it’s summer, Roman’s not the type to go get a tan—and bends his head to nuzzle into the crook of Roman’s neck.

“Oh fuck,” Roman whines. “Kiss my neck.”

Victor obeys. It’s more slobbering than kissing. He knows how Roman likes it. Roman only has two rules when it comes to his neck: don’t bite, and don’t leave marks.

Victor knows he’s doing a good job when Roman grabs his hips like his life depends on it and starts to fuck him for _real._ That’s what Victor really likes, when Roman holds onto him and slams him into oblivion, and Victor couldn’t form words if he wanted to other than “boss” and “Roman” and “fuck me.” It’s easier in bed. It’s easier when Roman has Victor bent over, like they sometimes do in the backseat. This position isn’t great for it, but they manage. Roman plants his feet on the floor and uses that leverage to fuck Victor hard.

Victor waits to touch his dick until he can’t take it anymore. He presses his hand against it, digging hard into his pubic bone, and his thighs start to shake before he even comes.

They shake even harder when he does.

Victor gasps and moans into Roman’s neck, trembling around Roman’s dick. His thighs try to slam shut, but in this position, they can’t. Just when he thinks he’s coming down, another wave hits him. He feels like he’s coming forever.

It’s probably only about a minute.

It’s seconds after he finally does come down, collapsing against Roman’s body like a corpse, that Roman whines, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

So Victor pulls off and—moaning so loud people can probably hear him outside—Roman jerks himself off onto Victor’s thighs. Roman and Victor are experts in the pull-out method. It’s not to prevent pregnancy—Victor takes birth control pills he gets on the internet—but because Roman likes to finish on Victor’s scars.

Victor wipes the come off his body with the napkins they got with their food. He swipes one between his legs and isn’t self-conscious about it at all. He doesn’t feel like putting his clothes back on, and Roman doesn’t feel like getting up at all, so Victor climbs back into his lap and they go back to lazily kissing.

Which lasts for about five minutes, until they’re rudely interrupted by a carhop knocking on the window.

It’s not the same one from before. This one’s a man. Maybe the last one called in reinforcements. Victor cranks down the window and says, “Hi.”

The man’s eyes land on Victor’s face, then on his chest, then back to his face. Victor grins crookedly.

“You need to leave,” the carhop says, “before we call the police.”

“What are you, homophobic?”

“I’m calling the police.”

“We’re _leaving,”_ Roman says. “Your food’s fucking awful anyway.”

(Even though he couldn’t get enough of their fries.)

So Sonic gets crossed off their list of places to have sex.

It’s fine.

They’re adaptable.

Maybe next time they’re in the area, they’ll try the Dunkin’ Donuts down the highway.

**Author's Note:**

> the idea of victor being scared of ghosts comes from [DoktorGirlfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoktorGirlfriend/)!


End file.
